


Being the Bigger Person

by tea_and_outer_space



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Height Differences, M/M, Other, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_and_outer_space/pseuds/tea_and_outer_space
Summary: Jyn is used to feeling short. But this, this isridiculous.-Or, in which Jyn is short and Cassian is tall.Or, in which Jyn drinks too much juice, Cassian has an unhealthy mug collection and a love for pranks, Baze is a Mama Bear, K2 doesn't understand humans, Bodhi has an unfortunate crush, and Chirrut loves to sit back and listen to the world burn.





	1. Midnight Juice

**Author's Note:**

> I read that Jyn and Cassian have a seven inch height difference and then I upped it to 10 and now here we are

The new ship is nice.

Because it actually has a _fridge_.

Agricultural technology was produced by her mother, the kriffing Death Star was built by her father, and Jyn didn't inherit any of that.

When the new Rogue One had been bestowed upon the mismatched six, Cassian and Bodhi had talked in tech jargon to each other for hours, Baze and Chirrut had made some rather good use out of the extensive training facility on the bottom level, and K2 had plugged himself into every port available.

(Jyn had wondered if it was proper for a bot to do that in public, but considering the noises that occasionally emanated from Baze and Chirrut's chambers, no one on the damned ship had an ounce of discretion. _Men_.)

The new Rogue One is sleek, large, beautiful. Jyn's fairly sure everyone on board had jacked it to the top of the line, sophisticated ship.

If either her father or mother were alive, Jyn's sure that they would have loved it just as much as the five _nerds_ she finds herself living with.

As it stands, the ship has a fridge and that's all she cares about.

Tech be damned, sleek paneling and fancy buttons can burn in a fire, all the ports in the world don't mean shit, as long as Jyn has her food. Not the prison “food”, or the Rebel base grub, but legit, honest to goodness _juice_.

While the others were raving over comm systems and thrusters and turrets, Jyn was celebrating the fact that she could actually have a hot meal for once. Or, a cold meal, if she rathers. Or, anything other than lukewarm prison slop and dry-frozen Rebel feeding packets.

It's the middle of the night, but that doesn't matter, because they're in space and space doesn't have night or day. Jyn doesn't give a damn that she has to be up in a few hours for her flying shift, she needs juice.

Heading out of her room, she makes a beeline for the kitchen. (Because, yes, the ship has a kitchen. Praise be to the Force, Jyn thinks.)

On her way there, she grabs the first jacket she finds, because space is cold. It might be Baze's, but it could be anyone's, because despite being the currently most highly respected members of the Rebellion, no one on the ship has a concept of a laundry basket.

After finding her way through the maze-like halls of the ship (Rouge One is new, after all, and she hasn't quite got the layout down yet), she finds herself in the kitchen. A few feet away from a glass, a few moments away from some juice.

Some say they lived through the Scarif through the Force, through willpower, through sheer dumb luck. Jyn says she lived through her love of juice. Had she died, she'd never have another glass again, and that fact pissed her off enough to keep fighting.

Alone in the kitchen, she lets out a snort. Everyone on this ship has some reason to fight, but most of the time her motivation is simply being pissed. Fitting.

She slides forward (the kitchen tiles are sleek and polished, and her socks are fuzzy, and who in their right mind would walk instead of slipping and shimmying around?), and grabs a glass from the cabinet. Cassian's picky about his mugs, insisting that his favorites are only for his use, and so Jyn grabs one just to piss him off when he sees it in the dirty side of the sink in the morning.

Shuffling over to the fridge, she grabs her juice. She can't remember if it's Circuit cider or Jaffa cider specifically, but it doesn't really matter. She pours herself a glass, hops up on a counter to take a seat, takes a swig, and begins trying to figure out how to get out of flying duty.

With all that had happened, she supposes she should be happy that the worst of her worries is her shift for piloting Rogue One. If anything, it's actually nice, on the rare occasion that her copilot _wasn't_ K2 or Cassian.

Shortly following the Scarif battle, there was quite a lot of fuss. Jyn was tempted to make a quick leave and skip all the pompous awards, and go get very drunk.

(She says she stays because Cassian dragged her back to the awards ceremony after finding her halfway out a window, but she does actually care for this gang of assholes, even if she won't admit it to any of their faces.)

The six of them had been first scolded by both Bail and Mon, about how _stupid_ it was and how _dangerous_ and all the other words that Jyn figured she was supposed to take them as insults. She just thought it made the mission sound a bit more badass, and by some grace of the Force she kept herself from rolling her eyes.

After the scolding, then came the thanks.

Which was quite a flip in tone, but to be expected.

Following that was the awards ceremony, and the six of Rogue One, their supporters, and those who had fallen were thanked for their service.

And, to the six's surprise, they were promptly fired.

“A brief sabbatical before being stationed to less dangerous duty,” Bail had told them.

Ultimately, it had made sense. After Scarif, the six of Rouge One were quite well known as Rebels, and as such, they were quite well _hunted_. Having leaked the plans for heart of the Empire painted a massive target over their heads. Stealth and anonymity wasn't something they had on their side any longer.

From several higher ups in the Rebellion, the six were instructed to lay low. With how helpful they were to the cause, they couldn't be lost. And with the drama currently ensuing involving Vader, the kidnapping of Bail's daughter, and some Jedi popping up, the six faded into the background quite nicely.

Taking a break wasn't something any of them would have chosen on their own, but when the chance was given to them, none of them minded, either. Fighting for a cause with all you have is quite a tiring thing, and honestly, none of the six had the energy to turn the chance down.

And so, they were given a new ship to replace the one exploded, they were given free reign of the skies, and Jyn had stolen three cartons of juice from the Rebel headquarters before they jumped into space.

No destination in front of them, nothing chasing behind. It's calm, if you don't count the occasional spat between K2 and Jyn, and the one time that Bodhi almost flew them into a sun. (Bodhi isn't allowed to operate hyperspace controls anymore.)

Their supplies are filled, everything's nice, and all Jyn really has to worry about was flight shifts. The crew would take charge in various increments, specifically Jyn, Baze, and occasionally Chirrut. Bodhi, K2, and Cassian had figured it was for the best that the remainder of the group learned how to fly, but Jyn's fairly certain they had just decided that so they could shift the work off to others.

Jyn doesn't like flying. She likes fighting. She likes running. She likes speeders, pod racing, sliding around on her socks.

She likes being _fast_ , and although space travel was the fastest kind there was, it didn't feel fast.

It feels like sitting in a stiff chair for hours on end, tapping buttons and pulling switches, staring out into the vastness of space.

Unless it involved gun fights, crashing, or copious amounts of mortal danger, Jyn finds space travel to be quite boring.

She takes a sip from the mug, swinging her legs. Her toes don't even touch the floor, but that just means optimal leg swinging.

A brief idea strikes her, and she's half tempted to shrug off Baze's coat, smash Cassian's mug, hide the shards in the coat.

The ensuing fight would distract everyone from her skirting off flying duty, and it'd be funny as hell to watch too.

She takes another sip, and debates if she's _that_ much of an asshole. Last time someone broke one of Cassian's favorite mugs, he had torn the ship apart just to find glue to fix it. Plus, if he pissed off Baze, Baze would totally be able to kill him in a fight.

Which would also be a sight to see, but Jyn decides that she shouldn't be _that_ much of a dick. Besides, they're in space, and if and/or when Jyn gets Cassian killed, she decides he deserves a nice funeral, not being flung into space. A tidy plot of dirt. With a tombstone. _Here lies Cassian, this motherfucker, what a tool. Loves mugs and ships. RIP in kriff._

Jyn wonders where she could get that engraved, and lets out another chuckle.

She nearly was the death of the whole crew, and she decides that if she ever _does_ wind up being the last alive, she's gonna get 'em all the funniest damn gravestones she can think of.

“Is that my mug?”

Jyn flits her eyes up, muscles tensing at the sudden noise.

Cassian is in the kitchen doorway, broad shoulders filling up the space, wearing a plain t-shirt and pajama bottoms. It's odd to see him without his signature jacket, Jyn thinks, he's damn near unrecognizable without the fluff of fur around his neck.

“When you die, do you wanna have your mug collection buried with you?” Jyn asks. She takes a long sip from the mug, making sure that Cassian recognizes it as his.

Cassian's eyebrows knit together, confusion lacing his tired face.

“Wh... what?”

“See, when I die, I got my necklace. Possibly juice. Y'know how some people take stuff to their graves 'n shit. Oh, better idea than the mugs, lets just bury K2 down there with you. Doesn't even have to be dead, I'm sure he'll find some way to entertain himself.”

Cassian stares at her.

He blinks sleepily.

“Are you doing that thing you do?”  
She takes a sip.  
“I do a great many things. Breathe, talk, blink, be better than you.”

“The thing where you think of things and wind up thinking of weirder things until you don't make sense.”

“ _You're_ the one not making sense,” Jyn replies, quite chipper. Her ADHD in full force, though, so she does nod. “Yeah, I'm doing that thing.”

“Stop doing the thing.”

“Nah.”

“Well, stop drinking out of my mug.”

“Nah.”

Cassian steps into the kitchen, moving forward.

“I got that one after my first dogfight,” he says, “K2 already broke the other ones in the set, I don't want that one to break too.”

“Oh, how little you trust me,” Jyn admonishes, “If I was going to break anything of yours, it wouldn't be a mug.”

“It'd be my will to live,” Cassian deadpans. “Oh, wait, you already broke that.”  
“Success.”

Cassian steps closer, and Jyn finds that he's rather predictable when he's tired. He makes a quick movement to snatch the mug, and Jyn jerks her hand in the air, extending her arm all the way up.

She's sitting on the counter, and Cassian's on the floor, so one would think she'd have the height advantage.

Cassian snatches the mug from her easily.

Jyn scowls, and makes a move to grab it back, but he backs up from the counter. She scowls even more, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Don't steal my stuff,” Cassian says. He steps to the side, going to the sink. He dumps out the small amount of juice left in it, and begins washing it.

“Technically, I was kidnapped by _your_ Rebel alliance, meaning I was indirectly stolen by you. This is justice. I can steal what I want. It's payback.”

“Oh no, we saved you from prison, how terrible of us,” Cassian mutters, words laced with sarcasm.

“Glad you see you're a shit. Now hand me another cup.”

“No.”

“C'mon.”

“Get your own.”

Jyn lets out a sigh, and pouts as if he asked her to destroy the whole Death Star on her own, not just to get a cup. She hops off the counter, grabs her carton of juice, and takes a swig directly from the bottle as she shimmies over to a cabinet to get another cup.

“That's disgusting,” Cassian says. He doesn't even have to look up from the mug he's washing with care to know that Jyn's being gross.

“I'm the only one who drinks this,” Jyn replies. She pointedly drinks from the carton once more. “Besides, it's a defense thing. No ones gonna wanna drink after me now that it has my germs all over it, leaving more for me.”

Cassian grabs a nearby towel and starts drying off his mug, before gently placing it in the clean side of the sink so it can finish drying by air.

He glances over at Jyn, and whatever witty retort he was thinking of dies on his lips. His eyes go wide, his eyebrows furrow, and his lips part slightly.

“What?” Jyn asks, after noticing his odd stare. Really, she should be used to everyone she meets looking at her like she has a second head, but she asks nonetheless.

Cassian's head tilts slightly.

“You're short,” he says. “Like, _tiny_.”

 _Just like your dick_ , Jyn thinks, but she doesn't say it. She isn't quite sure what the probation period before dick jokes are, but it's only been a few weeks since she met him, so she'll reserve her witty retorts for another time.

“I'm _not_ tiny,” she says. “I happen to be _average_.”

Jyn claims to be a proud five foot three. Which, she would be, if she were wearing three inch heels. Her usual boots do have some lifts, but then she realizes that she _isn't_ wearing her boots. She's in her pajamas, so all she has on her feet is fuzzy socks.

Cassian isn't overly tall, but he's two inches shy of six feet tall. She has to tilt her head back to glare up into his eyes, and that pisses her off.

“How tall are you?” Cassian asks.

“Five foot three,” Jyn replies, crossing her arms over her chest once more.

(She may straighten up a bit, edging up on her tiptoes, too.)

Cassian shakes his head once more.

“No, because Bodhi is five and a half, and you're _way_ smaller than him.”

“ _I'm average_.”

Cassian smirks down at her, and Jyn boils with rage.

  
“Whatever you wanna tell yourself, shorty,” Cassian says. “Honestly, it's kinda _cute_.”

Jyn knows that he's just doing this to get a rise out of her, and she gets pissed anyway.

“I'm not kriffing _cute_ ,” she retorts. “I saved the _galaxy_.”

“Aw, it shows that even the smallest people can be important!”

Jyn grabs her carton of juice, flips Cassian off, and leaves the kitchen without another word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this has been in progress for like six months. because there's more to come! originally I was going to post it as a super long one-shot, but since it's getting so long I'm splicing it up into chapters. some of them are short, others long, I'll be updating frequently.
> 
> anyways, let me know what you think!


	2. Flight Shifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the pranking begins

In four hours, Jyn manages to drag herself from bed.

Not by choice, but because she can't sleep with K2 bugging her over the ship comm to get up and take over her flying shift.

She gets up and gets dressed, and sleepily shuffles her way over to the cockpit. She tries to rub the sleep out of her eyes, and when she passes Chirrut and he bids her a good morning, she only grunts in reply.

When she reaches the cockpit, no one is there. The ship is flipped on autopilot, and she decides to wait before smashing any buttons or altering their course. The last time she started messing with stuff without any of the more experienced pilots to supervise, she accidentally set them in hyperspace and crossed half the galaxy.

A few minutes tick by, and Jyn is already rather tempted to just lay on the floor and pass out. Before she can actually do so, however, Bodhi springs into the room, drying off his wet hands on his jacket.

“Sorry!” he exclaims,” Sorry, I was going to be here a few minutes ago, but I had to do my coping mechanisms.”

Jyn flips her hand dismissively, batting away his concerns.

“No problem, Bo. You doing okay now?”

“I'm having a really bad anxiety flare up,” he admits, shuffling his way over to the copilots chair. “I may have to leave every now and then to wash my hands and all.”

Jyn nods.

“No worries, I'm sure I probably won't crash. Do all your stuff whenever you need to,” Jyn replies. With her own mental illnesses and odd tics, she feels like she gets Bodhi and his OCD rather well. She knows what it's like to be compulsed to do things, and even if he did have to leave to wash his hands a dozen times, she won't mind.

“Am I gonna have to be fully lucid for today?” she asks, voice still thick with sleep.

Bodhi shakes his head, as he adjusts the copilot's seat and slips on the comm headphones.

“No, we don't have any intense flying ahead of us, it'll just be maintaining controls and things. With my anxiety, and how Cassian mentioned you only got a few hours of sleep, it's probably best we skip the teaching and just work on recapping.”

A tired smile finds it's way onto Jyn's lips, and she takes her own seat.

Her first thought is that K2 must have been the last one to pilot, because the seat is pushed back like hell. She can't quite reach the controls, nor the pedals on the floor.

She drops her hand to fumble with the latch to push the chair up, and she finds that the latch doesn't budge.

She continues trying to shift it, wiggling it in various directions, a scowl soon forming on her lips.

“The latch is stuck,” she says, still trying to work it free.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Bodhi says, “Forgot to tell you. The chair was wobbly or something earlier, and Cassian said he had to fix it with some glue and stuff. It can't be pushed up now, but I suppose that's better than it sliding all over when you're trying to fly, yeah?”

Jyn stops messing with the latch, and glances over to Bodhi.

“This won't work for me, though. Can't reach the pedals, I'll have to practically sit on the edge to reach the controls.”

“Yeah,” Bodhi says, voice turning sheepish. “Captain says that since everyone else on the ship leans on the taller side, it makes more sense for the chair to be stuck in a position that would work for taller people.”

Jyn leans back in the chair, a harsh scowl crossing her face.

“Are... are you mad?” Bodhi squeaks out, unsure if he did something wrong.

Jyn practically flings herself out of the pilots chair, and storms off.

“Where are you going?”

“To shove a lightsaber down every orifice the captain owns.”

Bodhi stays in the cockpit.

In the distance, a fight starts. The new Rogue One is rather large, but Bodhi can hear the sounds of yells and shrieks throughout the ship. There might even be blasters firing. And that's _definitely_ K2 laughing.

Bodhi decides to stay in the cockpit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bodhi has ocd i will fite


	3. Chirrut and Baze Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> K2 is flat against the door frame opposite to the one Jyn's standing in. Baze is standing on a chair pushed next to him, a ruler in one hand, and a marker in the other.

Jyn stuffs the toes of her boots with paper.

It helps the secondhand boots fit, and it edges her feet back to the heels, making her stand just the bit taller.

Jyn stands to her feet, pushing herself up off the edge of her bed. She quickly finds her balance in the freshly packed boots, and makes her way to the kitchen.

The smell of pancakes flits through the air. Chirrut's cooking. Which means actually decent grub for once.

(The crew learned long ago that Baze thinks salt is all the spice a dish needs, Bodhi can burn water, and K2 doesn't understand that egg shells aren't a welcome addition to scrambled eggs.)

The closer to the kitchen she gets, the stronger the smell becomes, and the louder the laughter in the air becomes. Despite the tension in her shoulders and the ever present stress in the air, Jyn manages a smile.

Even at the Rebel base, laughter wasn't a free commodity. And laughter certainly had no place in jail, in Imperial ships, even on the farm it was sparse.

Jyn steps into the kitchen, and her smile dies on her lips.

K2 is flat against the door frame opposite to the one Jyn's standing in. Baze is standing on a chair pushed next to him, a ruler in one hand, and a marker in the other.

He balances the ruler on K2's head, holding it in place.

“Got it,” Baze says, after a moment.

K2 steps away, giving Baze room to mark K2's height with the marker.

“Jyn,” Chirrut greets, not even looking up from the pancakes he's flipping expertly, “Good morning.”

“Space doesn't have mornings,” K2 chimes in, ever ready to put a damper on any semblance of happiness he saw.

“Good inky timeless void doesn't have the same ring,” Bodhi puts in. “Good morning, Jyn.”

“What's this?” Jyn asks, bypassing greetings, gesturing to the door frame that Baze is scribbling on with the marker.

“Marking heights,” Baze says, “Chirrut's idea.”

Chirrut snorts.

“Baze is a mother hen, and he wants to keep track of his little chicks' heights,” Chirrut replies, “Marking heights was his idea. Give it time, soon he'll be packing lunches and fussing over chores.”

“Fussing over chores wouldn't be a bad thing,” K2 says dryly, sitting down at the kitchen table next to Bodhi, “You are all disgusting. I'm thankful every day I don't have to use the grime pit you all call a bathroom.”

Baze steps down from the chair he's standing on, appraising his work.

“I already have K2, Chirrut, Bodhi, and me,” he says, “Jyn, you're up next. Take off your shoes, I want it to be accurate.”

Jyn's eyes narrow into slits.

She remembers doing this as a kid. Every year on her birthday, she'd mark off her height, her father measuring and her mother signing Jyn's name.

This wouldn't exactly be a _bad_ thing, if it wasn't for recent happenstances on the ship.

Cassian walks in the door a moment later, (gently) shoving Jyn out of his way as he passes her.

“Don't block the doorways,” he admonishes, voice gruff with sleep. “Mornin'.”

“I'm gonna slit your throat with a rusty spoon,” Jyn replies.

Chirrut lets out another snort, Bodhi looks up from the table wide-eyed, Baze watches expectantly, and K2 has all the glee of a kid in a candy store.

Cassian pauses, and glances back. His hair is scruffy, his face unshaven, and his eyes are still clouded with sleep. He looks at her, trying to figure out if she just said what his sleepy mind thought she said.

“You heard me,” Jyn states. She puffs up, like a chicken prepared to get into a fight.

(She currently has no rusty spoons on her, but when the opportunity arises, she will be on it like fur on a bantha.)

Cassian pauses for a moment more.

“After breakfast,” he says, before turning to sleepily shuffle to Chirrut's growing pile of pancakes, “I'm too tired right now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love writing these old husbands, even without all the height teasing they'd probably wanna mark their childrens height anyways


	4. Laundry Room Mishaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's no surprise the boys often forget laundry is a necessity

Cassian finds his way into the laundry room.

He doesn't even question that the new Rogue One has a laundry room, or the fact that it took him a solid two weeks to find it. Apparently, doing laundry is not only his idea, as most of the crew are already in the small room.

The tired captain drops his basket of dirty clothes at his feet, and glances around. Baze is fumbling with the knobs on the washing machine, and Bodhi is taking his things out of the drier. Chirrut's sitting on the floor in the corner, folding things delicately.

And K2 is there, despite his lack of clothes, and his love for solitude.

Cassian shoots him a glance.

“Jyn's on flying duty,” K2 supplies, not looking up from watching Chirrut expertly fold socks, “I don't want to be by her. Why do you never fold your socks, Captain?”

“Socks don't matter,” Cassian says.

“Everything matters,” Chirrut replies. He tosses a balled up pair of socks at Baze's head. Baze grunts, and flings the socks back. Chirrut catches them easily, and adds them to his growing pile of folded clothes.

“Who's idea was it to mark heights on the kitchen doorway?” Cassian asks, cutting right to the chase. He knows each of the crew can dance around questions like tangoing was their profession, so he figures being direct is best.

“Chirrut,” Baze states.

“Baze,” Chirrut says in the same breath.

“The Force herself,” Bodhi says, a slight smile crossing his lips.

Cassian lets out a sigh.

“More direct question, how did you all find out I was messing with Jyn about her height?”

“K2,” Baze, Chirrut, and Bodhi reply, all at once.

Cassian flicks his eyes back to his best friend. K2 merely shrugs.

“Jyn's being humiliated. Who am I to not share this glorious situation with the world?” K2 replies dryly.

Cassian heaves another sigh, and sits down.

“The point of this isn't to humiliate her,” Cassian says, “It's just to tease her.”

He doesn't think about why he wants to tease her, because he doesn't even know why, if he's being honest. He simply pulls his laundry basket closer, and begins to sort his lights from his darks. He wonders if Chirrut would have some sort of comparison with laundry to the Force, if prompted.

“Doesn't really matter what the purpose is,” K2 says, “Let's just keep it up.”  
  
“We could steal her shoes,” Bodhi muses aloud, “Her boots have a bit of heel on them.”

“Or we could just cut the heel off,” K2 adds.

“Nothing destructive,” Chirrut says, “That wouldn't be fair to her. It is five against one, after all. Besides, she may retaliate.”

“She has the subtly of the Death Star,” Baze states, “If she does decide to prank us back, it won't take us by surprise, I'm fairly positive.”

Chirrut lets out a snicker, as if he knows something everyone else doesn't. Which he probably does. When doesn't he?

 


	5. Top Shelf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone messes with Jyn's juice

Bodhi makes the next move.

Jyn shuffles into the kitchen at three in the artificial afternoon.

(Because, if left to her own devices, Jyn's the type of wreck who will sleep in until three in the afternoon.)

K2 is seated at the table, with Cassian messing about with the gangly robot's arms. One arm is completely detached and laying on the table, while the other one (sparking and crackling) is in Cassian's hands, being fussed over with a screwdriver.

(Jyn wonders if she could grab the detached arm and send it out the airlock before Cassian or K2 can stop her, but ultimately decides she's too tired. She saves that plan for a day when she can keep her eyes open and put some bite into her punches.)

Bodhi's seated across the table from K2, legs swinging, chin propped up one one hand, for all intents and purposes looking like a teenage girl talking to her crush. Jyn knows that's basically what's happening. And K2 has yet to tell him to fuck off, so apparently it's happening well.

Chirrut's washing dishes, Baze is brooding, and Jyn is starting to get suspicious.

While the crew might not actually _hate_ each other (K2 not included in that statement), they sure as hell don't tolerate each other most days. All of them grouped up in one room doesn't generally happen without bickering, someone dying and the rest coming to see the show, or a intercom announcement that there's free food in the rebel base mess hall.

Last time they were all gathered about like this, they were marking heights on the wall. Chirrut waves brightly at Jyn, and she returns it with a glare. She's suspicious.

Threat of height related mockery isn't quite enough to deter Jyn from her juice, though, so she moves into the kitchen.

“Ah, apparently we're blessed with the short one's company today,” K2 says.

Jyn rolls her eyes.

“Too blatant. Try harder next time. Subtly works wonders, if your processors are capable of that,” she replies.

She moves to the fridge. Grab the juice, tell whomever speaks to her next to fuck off, and back to her room to read the trashy romance data-pads she stole from Bodhi's bag.

(Followed by the porn holo-pads she found in Cassian's room, so she can mock him for one: watching porn, and two: _buying_ porn. Really, finding someone's porn stash is a gold mine when it comes to things to insult them with.)

Jyn reaches the fridge shortly, and pulls it open. Automatically her hand goes to where her juice usually resides, bottom shelf, beside Baze's moonshine, only to find it's not there. Her eyebrows furrow.

No one drinks her juice.

(Because last time someone tried she may have left bugs in their bed the next day. Poor Baze.)

She hears a snicker from behind her. The glare on her face solidifies into a super-glare, and her eyes drift upwards.

Sure enough, the juice is residing on the top shelf.

_Juuuuuust_ out of reach.

Jyn curses. She curses the Rebellion, the godforsaken crew she's with, her short genes, and also the Force for good measure.

More snickers from behind her. And also Baze's quiet voice filling in Chirrut on what's happening. Which would be cute, if Jyn didn't have a temper hotter than Mustafar.

Refusing to turn around or cave in, Jyn stands up on tiptoe, trying to reach the juice. Which doesn't work, because it's a tall fridge and high shelf and fate apparently has a vendetta against her.

Having no other ideas, she climbs, perching up on the second to the bottom shelf, and manages to tugs her juice out. She might have stood on some special pack of meat of Cassian's, and predictably she doesn't care.

She turns to the giggling gaggle of men, glare evident.

“Which one of you did this?”

Cassian looked proud, as if he _wished_ he could claim it, with K2 looking very much the same. Chirrut has a look of pride, so, no, not him, he'd me more subtle if it was his work. Baze was half of the duo who pulled the last thing, and Jyn doubted he'd be one to strike twice in a row when it came to pranks.

Jyn's green eyes honed in on Bodhi, narrowing into a sharp glare.

Bodhi squirmed a little.

“You're going to wake up cold, naked, and alone in space. And if you tampered with my juice, you can add castrated to that list.”

K2 lets out a huff, if he could roll his eyes he would.

“It's not _that_ bad a prank to warrant that,” he says.

“No castration allowed on my ship,” Cassian sighs, not looking up from fixing K2's arm.

“Our ship,” Baze says.

(“My ship,” Cassian mutters under his breath.)

“Juice, juice is _sacred_ ,” Jyn says, wagging a finger in Bodhi's direction, “If you kriffed up my juice, you're a goner.”

“I didn't do anything besides put it on the top shelf,” Bodhi says, “I'm not _that_ mean.”

“I would have replaced the juice with oil,” K2 says.

“Because you're mean,” Bodhi says, as if it proved he himself wasn't mean.

“Because I'm mean,” K2 agrees.

Jyn lets out a frustrated noise.

“Why are we even making fun of me for my height? Why not Cassian for his mugs? Or Chirrut's weird moans? Or the fact that Baze probably likes being called 'daddy'? Or K2's disproportionate joints? Or Bodhi's crush on-”

“ _Jyn!_ ” Bodhi rushes in, not a moment too soon. The others eyes turn to him. Chirrut smiles, all-knowingly.

“Who do you have a crush on?” K2 asks, head tilted slightly.

“I...” Bodhi stammers out. “I'm going to bed.”

With that, he gets up, leaves. And goes to bed.

(At three in the afternoon.)

(Or, as close to three in the afternoon that you can get in space.)

(Either way, it's fairly clear he won't sleep, just hide under his favorite blanket for a few hours.)

“Humans are weird,” K2 says.

“Even weirder that we're all adults using the term 'crush',” Cassian mumbles, his focus still down on K2's arm.

(He's bitter about the mug comment. Jyn can tell.)

“You have no room to talk, after your drunken ramblings from the other night,” Chirrut says, “I have a few choice quotes I could share, if you'd like.”

(Cassian's torn between snapping back and respecting his elders.)

(Although... Chirrut knows too much. Too, _too_ much. Pissing him off, if even possible, would probably end badly.)

Jyn sighs.

Jyn leaves.

At least she has her juice.

(Juice never teases about heights. Juice is a _friend_.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> real talk bodhi x k2 would be adorable


	6. Change of Pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Someone seems pensive.”

When it comes time to refuel the ship, they stop at a Rebel base.

Partially for fuel, partially to see old friends, partially to stop Cassian from fist fighting any Imperials that they might have come across had they went anywhere else.

(K2 personally loves seeing his human beat up other humans, feeling like some futuristic-robotic-Pokemon trainer, but Bodhi is the one who actually has to patch everyone up afterwards, and according to him he's too tired to save Cassian's life from internal bleeding today.)

When they arrive, the six scatter like cockroaches exposed to light; or humans (plus robot) who've been pent up in space for ages. There's sun and snow and woods and wind, and places to stretch legs and get fresh food. Rogue One might be a haven, but solid ground is more than welcome every now and again.

Plus Cassian's a hard-ass when it comes to work.

So K2 ditches everyone instantly, Baze and Chirrut dart off to “meditate” in the woods, Bodhi wanders off like a rabbit exploring a meadow.

Jyn realizes she's the last one there.

Cassian pulls out a clipboard – because he's a nerd who uses a clipboard – and begins to run over things that need to be done, people that need to be seen, supplies that needed to be gotten.

Jyn slips a blaster into her pocket, grabs Cassian's puffy jacket, and _bolts_.

She hears Cassian saying something belligerent in her wake, probably to the effect of “Wait, _someone_ has to help me get all this fodder!”, but Jyn does what Jyn does best: she ignores him and keeps running.

A dick move, but fuck it, she saved the universe, Jyn feels like she's allowed to pull dick moves every now and again.

She's not sure what planet they're on. Certainly not Hoth; while there is snow, there isn't a _shitton_ of snow. It doesn't seem to be one she's been on either, and while Jyn likes to think she's well traveled, she's also well aware that the Galaxy has so much she hasn't seen.

She spends the day wandering through white plains, towering trees, half frozen rivers.

(And if she makes a snow angel or two, she does it far, _far_ away from the base, where no one can see.)

Jyn doesn't return to the ship until night.

Lights in the base's windows are still on. Music thrums through the air, scents of food and cigarette smoke waft by. There's the sound of laughter.

Even in war times, happiness can be found.

Although all Jyn wants is rest.

Even though the others may be in there and there might be more juice and some decent food, going in there means being idolized. Claps on the shoulder, people asking her for the story of Scarif, how she did it and how it felt and “Oh, Force, you're so brave!” and “You're my hero, all of ours!”.

(And if anyone asks, Jyn would give them a glare and say she simply likes being left alone, but the real reason is that she feels she doesn't deserve a goddamn bit of it.)

(Maybe Cassian was right all that time ago, when he talked about her not fighting hard enough, soon enough. And yes, Scarif was a big deal, but maybe Jyn could have changed things if she threw herself into the fight before she was dragged into it.)

(And maybe that's something Jyn tortures herself over every goddamn day.)

(Could have saved her father, Saw, holy cities and civilians and so many other things if she just-)

“Someone seems pensive.”

Jyn nearly jumps at the sudden voice, but she doesn't dare allow herself to. Her green eyes find Cassian's form sitting in the pilots seat.

Apparently being in thought had enraptured her enough that she didn't register the walk to the cockpit. Which isn't exactly unusual, Jyn's had her fair share of zoning out the world and running things through her head.

“Yeah,” is all she says, taking the co-pilots seat.

(They aren't flying anywhere, just yet. Plans are to leave tomorrow morning.)

(Neither of them has a reason to be in the cockpit, except for it being the only place in the ship with windows to the starry sky above. Snow clouds parted ways, leaving room for stars and planets and moons. A pretty sight, even if the two below think they don't deserve the simple pleasure of the night sky.)

“Wanna talk about it?” Cassian offers. For once he isn't teasing, trying to get her to work, or being cryptic.

(Night has a way of changing people like that.)

Jyn is used to snapping when people pry, but she doesn't.

“Surprised you're not in there,” she says, instead. Gentle deflection, nothing harsh, and obvious enough that Cassian knows not to push further.

Cassian drifts his eyes over to the base, watching the figures in the windows.

“Don't really feel like being poked and prodded. Not at the moment, anyway.”

“I thought you had friends at this base?” Jyn asks.

She flicks her gaze over to him, taking in his appearance while he's too distracted to notice. Eyes pensive, fingers flexing as if they were dying to take to the ship's controls, skin flushed with a days hard work.

Jyn looks away, taking her gaze down to her reddening hands. She's not used to the cold, and it shows in her skin.

“A few,” Cassian answers. “Things are different now.”

“Since Scarif?”

“Since Scarif.”

The two lull into silence, both of them thinking their own things for a moment or two.

“Just...” Cassian says, quietly. He bites his lip hesitantly for a heartbeat, before continuing. “I used to just be another face in the mess hall, you know? Another soldier. Nothing more, nothing less. Now everyone thinks I'm some kind of hero, and they treat me differently. I'm no better than they are, did nothing that no one else wouldn't have, but things are still different now.”

Jyn nearly lets a lifeless smile onto her lips, a rogue thought rising that no matter how different Cassian and her are, they still _understood_ one another. He's feeling something akin to what she is, even though she doesn't quite feel like admitting it.

“If it helps, you're still just Cassian to me,” she says, looking over at him once more, feeling the slightest bit of surprise at him already having his gaze on her.

He smiles, a half smile, showing that not everything is fixed, but that that's okay.

“It does help,” he says.

Cassian rises from the pilots seat, and motions for Jyn to follow.

“Gotcha some stuff when I was getting supplies,” he says.

Jyn's curiosity piqued, she follows. The two weave their way through the ship, footsteps echoing on the metal walkways. It feels a bit odd to be in Rogue One devoid of the sound of K2 fussing, Baze and Chirrut squabbling-slash-flirting, Bodhi fixing things up, but both Jyn and Cassian attempt to ignore the oddity.

(Because not ignoring it means accepting that the ship is starting to feel like home.)

(Not just the ship.)

(The _people._ )

Soon enough the two arrive in one of the many storage rooms. Quite a few new boxes are abound, some marked food, others first aid, and a few miscellaneous here and there.

Cassian nabs one box off a stack – aptly marked 'Jyn' – and hands it over.

Jyn takes it, and shuffles through it.

“Found you some juice, too, that's in the fridge,” Cassian says, “Knew you were running short.”

Jyn flashes a grin up at him.

(Juice, the way to her heart.)

“Thanks,” she replies. She gestures down to the box, which appears to just contain bundles of cloth. “What's all this, then?”

“Well, I got some clothes for all of us. A few warmer things, and a few cooler things. I knew everyone's wardrobe was pretty limited, so I figured I'd find some stuff we could use in case if we visit a planet with extreme temperatures.”

He leans closer, (close enough that Jyn can smell blaster oil and a little something else, but she ignores that), and points to one article of clothing.

“I think you'll like that one.”

Jyn sets the box down and nabs the blue shirt.

Because it turns out to be a shirt.

A very, _very_ large shirt.

Jyn holds it up in front of her, and holy _kriff_ , she could use it as a tent if needed.

“Oh no,” Cassian says, light teasing in his tone, “I must have forgotten how small you are.”

Jyn drops the shirt into the box and frowns.

“You're terrible,” she tells him.

(But with their talk and how close she feels their spirits are right now, she doesn't manage to put much malice into it. None, in fact.)

(Cassian's words weren't harsh either, it's evident that right now, this is just keeping up appearances.)

(Because they're both tired and depressed and too emotionally stunned to just talk about it, so instead Cassian jokes about Jyn's size, and Jyn calls him terrible.)  
(And that's it.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i can't help adding angst, even with my fluffy/humor fics B)


	7. The Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because of course she wears the shirt

That night, Jyn wears the shirt.

Door locked, not telling a soul, because she wouldn't dare give Cass the satisfaction.

Turns out extra extra extra extra large shirts are quite cozy to sleep in. Almost like a nightgown. And the blue is pretty, and the fabric is soft, and it smells of Rebel bases which happens to smell like Cassian-

Jyn pulls her blanket over her head.

She tells herself that when she wakes up, she'll burn the shirt in the trash incinerator.

(But she doesn't.)

 


End file.
